After Midnight
by Amy11
Summary: Spike thinks about his new relationship with Buffy.


Disclaimer: Joss made the characters. The song at the end is called Black, Black Heart and it's sung by David Usher.  
*****  
  
  
He knows what it means, the cross she wears.   
  
It's the necklace that Angel gave her years ago and it tells him two things. The first is that she will always belong to another. And the second is that he has no real place in her life.   
  
But it doesn't stop her from coming to him at night.   
  
He could set his watch by it; five after midnight, every night... All night. She is shameless in what she asks silently of him. She never voices her questions-- her demands-- but he knows them just the same. They rarely speak anymore. The most he hears of her voice is in her breathy moans, but he continues because of what he told her lover once, that it would be better to be near her and not part of her heart than not near her at all.  
  
He's still waiting to feel that.   
  
She is an automaton in the day and he knows it, sees the hunger for release in her eyes when she visits him in the shadows of night. Everything about the two of them is hidden from the world in those stolen hours where time seems to stop, where she can breathe again, and writhe against his hand or mouth or body and feel the satisfaction that can only be had in bed.   
  
She lets out her tensions when she is on top of him; she is thorough and harsh and their coupling is as vicious as she can make it as she continues to tell him without words that it's not really him that she needs, just anyone. But it's only in the other times, when she allows him to take control, that she seems content.   
  
Her cross burns him frequently. It dangles over him when she decides to be on top-- because everything is done according to her whims and he simply goes along willingly-- and skims across his bare chest. Or, when he's above her, leaning down to press a kiss against her mouth and she pulls him closer it sears into his flesh creating welts and burns. And scars.  
  
He has so many scars now, inside and out, all because of her.  
  
There are nights when he devotes himself to tasting her. Her breath will become deep and ragged, and her flesh will become pink-tinged as the blood pulses hotly underneath. She pulls away from his seeking mouth and tongue, begging for less, and then thrusts herself toward him again, begging for more. She is salty and musky and there's some sort of indefinable taste inside her too, something that's just her, like no one else he's ever done that to. Maybe it's because she's the Slayer, he thinks, when he's thinking at all.  
  
But then, inevitably, she will clamp her thighs around his head and rock against him, finding her own rhythm and she will let him lap up her juices as she comes. These are the moments they speak, without really speaking. The moments when she'll let go of a moan and perhaps a 'yes' and he will groan with delight, just because he's hearing her voice and she's not leaving yet.   
  
He doesn't ever want her to leave.   
  
The daytime isn't the hardest, like he would expect it to be. It's not the waiting to see her, or the fact that he can't go out with her in the sunlight, or that he can never share his triumph and heartbreak over her with anyone. It's the minutes directly after she arrives, before they're lying tangled around each other. When she undresses so methodically, folding her clothes and setting them on the end of his couch. When she looks at him, saying nothing, as she waits for him to approach her.  
  
That's what's hardest. The moment she waits for him to approach her.  
  
Night after night, he tells himself that it's the last time. That if she wants him, he will wait her out until she makes at least one step in his direction to let him know that he's the one she wants, that this is the place she wants to be.  
  
But of course it isn't. *He* isn't.   
  
So night after night, after he makes himself that promise, he breaks it. It's part of the rules now, like her cross. As much as he wants her to come to him, he knows she never will and he's afraid-- yes, he smiles, he's afraid-- that she will leave if he doesn't make the first (and second, and third) move. So he does. He takes the steps. Starts the kisses. Makes the moves.   
  
It's not easy to be in love with her.  
  
He suspects it was easier for her other lovers because she gave more of herself. Even the last one, the soldier, was able to pretend for a while that he was a part of her heart.   
  
But, as hard as it may be, he can't stop it, can't pull away from it. It's like blood to him, fatal and rich and addicting. Her kisses ignite him and at least when she's in his arms, he knows that she's safe and can imagine that she really wants him. And when he's inside her, she can't hide from him any longer and he knows that she's exactly where she wants to be.  
  
He almost wishes that they were still in the time before sex, on the brink of it but not quite there. He almost wishes they were still balancing precariously between chaos and sanity because before... When it was only innocent kisses passing between them (as innocent as she could make her kisses), at least he got to see that tender, warm light fill her eyes. He almost wishes that.  
  
Almost...  
  
Now her eyes are dark and restless, as dark as she herself is becoming. He doesn't think the others recognize it, not yet, but he does. The way she moves, prowling from place to place, unplacatable. Her smile is nearly brittle, and he knows that she's on the verge of breaking under the strain of her memories and her secrets and her pain.   
  
He suspects he might be one of those secrets breaking her but still he cannot pull himself away. He wants to help her, longs to do something to show her that yes, inexcusable as it might be, his love for her is real. But he worries that the sudden rejection might push her even farther.   
  
At least he can calm her, and give her those moments of bliss that she seeks. Can give her a bliss that no other man-- despite what she says-- would be able to provide.   
  
She likes it when he hurts her. He thinks it might be because she knows that it hurts him to do so, but the dampness between her thighs tells him differently. He wonders what thoughts torment her so that she would prefer his fangs sinking into her flesh over them.   
  
He bites her but he never drinks, no matter how tempting.  
  
He knew what she wanted, the first time she bared her neck to him. So he raked his fangs over her jugular and listened to her moan while the scent of her blood drove him to the brink of insanity. He doesn't drink because he's frightened that once he's begun, he won't be able to stop, and he'll end up draining her... And he's frightened that that's what she wants.  
  
It's amazing to him sometimes... He was over a hundred years old, and rarely had feared anything. Yet his love for her brought up more terror than he had ever experienced. And worry, and compassion... All of the emotions a soul would give someone, yet he knows he remains soulless. He wants to comfort her through this dark time in her life but doesn't know how, doesn't know what steps to take other than the ones he's already taking; the steps he takes toward her at night in his bedchamber.  
  
It was ridiculous when Angel loved her, a vampire with a Slayer... But at least he had a soul. Spike sees his own love as the mockery that it is, and he is still powerless to stop it.   
  
He glances over at the clock and holds back a growl. She's killing herself by coming to him and even that fact can't make him turn her away, as much as he might want to. She relies on this, relies on him, to make the pain stop, if only for a few hours.  
  
She'll come soon.  
  
And he'll give her those hours. It's her time, when he's at her command.   
  
Before sunrise, and after midnight.  
  
  
The End  
  
  
Something ugly this way comes  
Through my fingers sliding inside  
All these blessings all these burns  
I'm godless underneath your cover  
Search for pleasure search for pain  
In this world now I am undying  
I unfurl my flag, my nation helpless  
  
Black black heart  
Why would you offer more  
Why would you make it easier on me  
To satisfy  
I'm on on fire  
I'm rotting to the core  
I'm eating all your kings and queens  
All your sex and your diamonds  
  
As I begin to lose my grip  
On these realities your sending  
Taste your mind and taste your sex  
I'm naked underneath your cover  
Covers lie and we will bend and borrow  
With the coming sign he tide will take  
The sea will rise and time will rape  
Black black heart  
  
Why would you offer more  
Why would you make it easier on me  
To satisfy  
I'm on fire  
I'm rotting to the core  
I'm eating all your kings and queens  
All your sex and your diamonds  
All your sex and your diamonds 


End file.
